In this gulp of silence,
a petal of memory surfaces:
my bodywas suspended
in a web of sweltering illusions
called "the world"

I was a bowl, carved purposely,
all the roots agreeing with the grain.
Still, the eventual
ware, unwinding,
scratching, sanding,
stealing,
breaking cracking
crumbling away at me
stitched me into the fabric
of dark and dim

Unclothing myself of all this fake gold,
and all these tattered lies,
my vision un-blurred

In the fist of my hands
the white of my bones
the crawl of my skin
the womb of my soul
I was draining,
scalded by my own ignorant echoes